Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone
by the morrighan
Summary: Detective Sheppard tries to bring his team together during another murder investigation.
1. Chapter 1

Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone

_To find her, or forever to deplore Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure._

"Idiots," Carson Beckett muttered to himself. He peered through the microscope. Sat back and oh so carefully eased the follicle of hair into a petri dish. He set the sample into a machine, turned back and inserted another slide under the lens of the microscope. Studied it, turning the knob to increase the magnification. "Morons," he muttered. He punched some buttons on the machine. Readings were displayed on a cracked screen. "Yes."

John Sheppard sighed. Knowing he should be accustomed to scientists and their odd shorthand. "Yes what?" he asked, standing in the makeshift lab located in basement of the bar. He glanced round the darkened room, at the medical equipment and machines. It reminded him of a low-rent Frankenstein's lab, but he kept the smirk off his face as the Scottish doctor turned to him.

"Yes. You've got something here. Barely enough DNA but I can tell you right off the bat the hair is human."

John smiled. "And?"

"And? And when I'm done I might have more. That's all I've got for now."

"That can't be all. I mean, there has to be something else, something other than human," John argued. He gestured towards the machine. "What does that say?"

"It doesn't say anything," Carson noted. "It is giving me a detailed analysis in case there is something else but if there is it will only prove cross-contamination. There's not much to go on here, detective. Don't you have your own scientists for this kind of thing?"

"Yes, I did, I mean I do. I just need a second opinion." He felt a pang, ignored it like he had all the others. The oblique reference to Moira and the resultant emotional reaction."

"I'm only doing this as a favor for her, not you, detective, just so we're clear. Got it? I am certainly not part of your bloody team!"

"And if the hair proves to be more than human?" John tested. "What then, doc? Can that count as proof?"

"No."

"Look, if I could get you in there to see the alien prisoner I would but I—"

"But instead you've mucked it all up, haven't you?"

"Come again?"

Carson shook his head, turning back to the microscope. "The specimen. If there is some anomalous reading it will only prove contamination."

"Or it will prove that it is from an alien life form. I was careful when I collected it, doc. I know the protocols. This is not my first crime scene and will be far from my last one."

"And yes, you mucked it up with Moira as well." Carson turned to him, expression serious. "Why can't you just man up and tell her?"

"Tell her what?" John asked, puzzled. Annoyed as the doctor was venturing into more personal territory now.

"Why do you think she ran? Because of you."

"Huh? No! Not that it's any of your business if anything is going on between Moira and myself but she needed to take that job. She needed the money and couldn't pass up the opportunity."

"Bullocks! She could have stayed here and worked with you. But she ran. Because you are as bad as she is. Admit it!"

"Admit what?" John asked, confused now.

"Admit you drove her away, you son of a bitch!" John turned at the voice. Turned right into Evan's swinging fist. He staggered as the blow hit him solidly across the jaw. "You drove her away! You!" Evan accused.

"I did not!" John refuted, swinging his own fist but Evan darted out of the way.

"Enough!" Carson demanded, trying to part the two men.

"What did you do? What did you do to her?" Evan shouted, trying to get round Carson but the doctor blocked him, hands up to keep the two men apart.

John wiped the blood off his lower lip. Smiled. "You wanna know what I did to her? I gave her the fuck of her life. Repeatedly."

"You son of a—"

"Enough! There'll be no brawling in me bar! Or down here!"

"I saw the bruises!" John stated. Angry now. "I saw what you did to her!"

Evan blinked, startled. Had to think back to remember. "It was an accident!"

"Hold up!" Carson turned to Evan. "You hurt our Moira?"

"No! I would never—"

"Yes! I saw the bruises on her arm you fucking bastard! I won't let you ever—"

"It was an accident, I swear! I'd never hurt her!"

"Yet you did, accident or not! If you so much as lay a finger on her again I will kill you!"

"Enough!" Carson glowered. "Even by accident you are culpable, Evan! If John's threat isn't enough let me add mine to it. Go!"

"It was an accident! I swear! I would never hurt her, never!" Evan defended. Abashed at his loss of control, at hurting Moira in the first place, however unintentionally.

"You'll never get the chance again, buddy," John vowed, voice low. Serious.

"No, I guess not since you drove her out of the country to fucking Mongolia!"

"I didn't—"

"Shut it, the pair of you! Go!" Carson pointed up the stairs. Evan shrugged, climbed them. The doctor watched him leave, then eyed John. "It probably was an accident. I can't see him ever hurting her intentionally. He doesn't have it in him."

"Well, I do. To hurt him, I mean, if he ever tries that shit again with Moira I'll—"

"You'll what?" Carson shoved past him. "If you had manned up and told her your feelings she never would have gone in the first bloody place!"

"My…I don't have feelings," John argued, scowling.

"Really? And what was that just now?"

"I…" John sighed. At a loss. "Call me when you get the results. I have to get back."

"You could have stopped her, John. Stopped her leaving."

John paused on the stairs. Glared at the steps. "I tried. I mean I mucked up her passport but she somehow got it sorted."

"No. You could have stopped her if you had told her how you feel. Why do you think she ran, John? Because she feels the same way. Lord, the pair of you are obstinate, aren't you?"

John tensed. "I told you, doc, I don't have feelings. And if she does…well, it was better that she left, then. Now lay off!"

"Fine. Then stop moping about her and don't call me doc!"

"I don't mope," John muttered under his breath as he headed for the police station. Working his sore jaw as he mulled over Carson's words, observations. Cursed as he saw a throng of reporters clustered around the entrance. Television cameras pointed at the doors, microphones in the air. He tried to head for the back entrance but like a flock of birds they descended around him.

"Detective, detective, is it true? Is there a psycho killer loose in Vegas? Do the citizens need to be warned? Is it the return of the Vegas Vampire? Is it a serial killer?" The reporters were all shouting at once, shoving mikes into his face as cameras flashed and zoomed in on his disgruntled expression. They sounded more eager than concerned that a killer could be stalking the land for another victim.

John was silent. He made his way through them, shoving when necessary. Squinting at the flash of lights. Shoving recorders out of his face. He had circled and had just reached the doors, had just reached escape when a familiar voice assailed him, and a hand tugged his jacket.

"Detective Sheppard, is there a serial killer on the loose and can you verify that this was no random animal attack as experts have asserted? Is the suspect a native or is the suspect even from Earth?"


	2. Chapter 2

Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone2

John paused at the doors. That last question had thrown him. He slowly turned. Lowered his shades to see Chuck Campbell waiting for an answer, digital recorder held up in the air. "No comment," he replied. Voice stern. He entered the building, stalked to his office. The air conditioner was barely registering as the heat of the day had followed him, was clinging to him as close as a lover. He had just removed his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt when a voice intruded.

"What the hell is that circus out there, Sheppard? What is this nonsense about a serial killer? The ME signed off on an animal attack and that's the statement I gave yesterday!"

John shrugged, turned to see an irate Captain Hendricks in his doorway. "I don't know where those vultures got all that. They just want something sensational to sell papers."

"And this supposed expert that Campbell guy keeps quoting?"

"Just another random biologist," John hedged, silently berating Moira for her wayward mouth.

"I'm going to have to release yet another statement before there is widespread panic. I think you need to haul in this random biologist and book him or her for—"

"No need. It's handled. She won't be a problem."

"Make sure she isn't one."

John silently swore as the captain left. He sat at his desk. Rubbed his eyes. Tired. He knew he should be glad that Moira wasn't around any longer to be a problem. Knew he should be glad she was out of his life. But she wasn't out of his mind. He needed her insight. And he dearly, dearly missed the sex.

He closed his eyes. Tempted to reach for that bottle of Scotch hidden in the desk drawer but refraining. Wanting to work. Any kind of distraction to keep him from more morose thoughts. From more tender feelings that he refused to acknowledge. Accept.

His phone buzzed. He checked it. Sighed with audible relief.

Luckily for him there was another homicide.

The ranch was closer to the outskirts of Vegas but still isolated enough that the body hadn't been discovered for a few days after the crime. Or what was left of the body, John sourly noted as he made his way across the rectangular living room.

In many ways it resembled the previous crime scene. A violent attack. Blood and entrails strewn over everything. Sprayed on the walls. On the floor. Everything torn to shreds. The stench was sickening in the heat of the day and the closed-off house. Several cops had already lost their lunches in the bushes outside.

John covered his nose and mouth, peering down at the remains. White bone gleamed amid the crimson carnage. "Same?"

DeMouy nodded, looking up at him. A mask concealed her lower face. "Yes. No signs of any weapons or cut edges. Another animal attack, John. My guess is a pack of rabid dogs."

"How did they even get in?" John questioned, glancing round the room. "I doubt they knocked."

DeMouy shook her head, ignoring his sarcasm. She turned back to the body. "Female this time. That's all I can determine here."

"Not the owner." John checked a pad of paper. "Owner's on a cruise. This was probably the house sitter. One Abigail Barnes. Secure the area. I want everything and anything processed until we can determine without a doubt that this was an animal attack," he ordered, glancing at the waiting forensic crew.

John stepped outside as the team set to work. The sun was high in the pale blue expanse of sky. Dazzling to the naked eye. Not a cloud marred it. The heat pulsed down on him and he opened his jacket, tempted to remove it. It was quiet except for the insistent buzz of the crickets. And the flies.

He circled the house, passing policemen and technicians. Nodding curtly at them as he went, looking for he knew not what. He paused in the shade to view the distant hills, a dark smear against the blue sky and dull, brown landscape. It was an unbroken vista to the mountains. Horses grazed, oblivious.

John headed for the barn. It was a huge structure, painted bright red. An eyesore right out of a Hollywood movie. A tractor was parked outside it. He entered the barn. Shadows swallowed him. He sneezed. Bales of hay were piled high on one side. On the other wicked instruments gleamed, pitchforks and axes, shovels and machetes. He stared round, hands on hips. Not seeing anything out of place, out of the ordinary.

Until he spotted it.

It was almost lost amid the hay and dirt. John stepped to it. Squatted. It was half of a finger. Severed by teeth marks on the flesh and bone. The skin was pale, wrinkled. The nail was not a nail so much as a claw. Sharp and pointed. Bluish in color. John realized it wasn't human. He quickly scooted it into a plastic baggie procured from his jacket. Slipped the evidence into his pocket and froze.

A noise. A grunt.

He moved to his feet with fluid grace. Silent. He drew his gun, glad he had it on him for a change. "LVPD! Come out now with your hands up where I can see 'em!" he ordered. There was more snuffling. John slowly advanced, gun poised in front of him. Dust motes glinted as the sunlight streamed into the barn from the huge circular window above him. Making it hard to see into the recesses of the barn, into the shadows.

An enormous pig emerged from the shadows. It grunted, squealed and trotted past him to a spilled bag of grain. John smirked, lowered his gun.

"Shep! What have you got in there? Oh."

John turned to see a cop joining him, eying the pig with a disbelieving smile. But the smile abruptly faded to be replaced by wide-eyed shock. "Shit." John whirled as the man fired his weapon. John ducked, gun poised to see a figure leaping down from the loft. A cascade of hay followed after it, coated it like some scarecrow come to life.

It was a figure out of a nightmare. John had seen Wraith before, but none were like this one. It was wild. Blood-stained and gory. He fired his weapon repeatedly, but it didn't stop. It didn't even stagger as it raced towards them, face a mask of pure fury. An alien face that was pale and gaunt and full of scars, tattoos. Sharp teeth revealed by its snarl. Long hair white and tangled. It knocked into both men and threw them aside like ninepins.

The pig squealed, running past them in blind panic. John rolled to his knees, fired the last of his rounds as the Wraith broke into a run. Heading straight for the cops running towards the noise. But it stopped. Turned. Approached him, head tilted as if eying a new specimen, a new species of human. A human that resisted. Its face was a gruesome mask as saliva dripped down from numerous teeth. The eyes were gold slits and wild.

The two stared at each other, frozen for a moment. Man and monster. Prey and predator. The one lacking a loaded weapon. The other lacking the means to feed upon him. The creature grinned. Fled with startling speed.

"Shit! I need back-up now! Stop him!" John shouted, jumping to his feet. He glanced to see the cop moving to his feet, only the wind knocked out of him. John sprinted out of the barn as a barrage of bullets were directed at the fleeing form. Passing through it like air, like it wasn't even there. It was moving so fast it became a blur of motion, almost invisible.

John was running, loading a new clip into his gun. "Flank left! He's heading for the desert! Don't hesitate to fire! Perimeter sweep now! Get some eyes in the air! Cordon off the area!"

But even as he ran, even as the men pursued John knew it was hopeless. Already the Wraith was lost to sight. Already it was gone, probably miles away and hidden from their searches. The damn thing was cunning, desperate, and that made it doubly dangerous. Doubly unpredictable. And John had no idea how to begin to track it, much less catch it.

One thing was certain.

This was no animal attack.


	3. Chapter 3

Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone3

John set the baggie onto the table. Almost slamming it onto the hard surface. Almost crushing the evidence. "There's your fucking proof! Happy now? Another vic is dead and I've got countless eyewitnesses!" He sat in the chair. Wearily rubbed his sore jaw. Glanced up to see the other patrons of the diner staring, then looking away uneasily. John had been out there all night along with every policeman, combing through the desert, the nearby suburbs, all to no avail. The Wraith had eluded all of them. Even the scent dogs could not find it.

Rodney McKay fingered the bag. Eyed the severed digit in it. A decaying mess of flesh and bone and claw. Teeth marks still visible. He took it and slipped it into the pocket of his dark suit coat. He appeared as weary and well-worn as the man across from him. "I owe you an apology."

"Damn right you do!" John agreed. But his ire was weighed by weariness. "Now there's an APB out on some druggie hyped on PCP and LSD and any other acronym I could think of to account for his appearance and strength and speed."

"You were right. There's a fourth Wraith out there. How on earth could this happen?"

"That's your concern, not mine. Mine is finding the son of a bitch before he kills someone else."

"It doesn't make sense, John! The Wraith don't act like this. They don't feed like this. They can't. I mean they physically can't eat like we do, or like animals do."

"Then why is it acting like that? Is it crazy? Could the crash have damaged it to the point it can't feed, or to the point where it's gone crazy?"

"Possibly."

John sighed. "You need to contain this before it gets out and the whole gig is up! You need to wake up Todd."

"I told you, we can't do that."

"Not buying it," John sourly countered. He glanced up to see Katie Brown watching, concern on her pretty face. He realized he hadn't ordered anything yet. Eyed the remains of Rodney's lunch and felt his own stomach rumble.

"If you don't believe me ask Moira. She'll know about the hibernation cycles and the circadian rhythm and the euthermic arousals."

"Can't."

A smile traced Rodney's lips. "Can't? Did you piss her off again?"

"No. She's halfway around the world on a dig." John sipped his beer, scowling. Realizing he needed her input badly.

"You can still talk to her, can't you?" Rodney asked, sipping his coffee.

"No . I don't have her contact information." He paused, feeling foolish, stupid. Like a teenager who had forgotten to get his girlfriend's phone number. "But I know where I can get it," he added gruffly.

Rodney smirked. "I see. Well, then I suggest you consult with her on this. Meanwhile I will get our people to run a full biological scan of the area…although it evaded our scans before this. I'll have Woolsey assemble our clean-up crew and get a search grid established. Do you have any idea where it's headed?"

"None. You'd know that better than I would. You and your so-called experts. I'd find that ship first and track it from there."

"That's a good idea."

"Yeah. Here's another one. You find this fucking thing before it kills again. Because if it makes it into Vegas all hell will break loose."

"This is probably the best example of post-modernism in the—" Evan was saying, guiding the sale to a conclusion as the women clustered, admiring both him and the painting on the wall. He turned, hearing the bell over the door. Turned right into John's fist as it struck him across the jaw. A woman screamed. The other dropped her drink. The champagne glass hit the floor, shattered, spilling liquid onto the pale tiles.

Evan staggered, almost falling with the force of the blow.

John smiled. "Just returning the favor. Oh, and for what you did to Moira. Even if it was by accident I have no problem with arresting you for assault and battery on a woman." He glanced at the two gawking women, flashed his badge at his hip. "I don't like guys who hit women."

"I never hit her! It was an accident! Shit! Oh shit, wait, wait!" Evan called, but the two women were speedily exiting the art gallery, clutching their expensive purses like shields as they bolted. "It's just a misunderstanding, I swear! God damn it, Sheppard! You just lost me another client!" Evan complained, rubbing his sore jaw. He grabbed a cloth to wipe the blood from his lip.

"Police business," John said, shrugging. But he couldn't quite conceal the smirk of amusement on his lips. "I need Moira's contact info. She left it with you, right? How to reach her in Mongolia?"

Evan smiled. Wiped the blood off his face. Enjoying John's discomfort. He had the detective at a distinct disadvantage and was going to milk it for all it was worth. "Yes. As a matter of fact I do. Funny she didn't see fit to give it to you."

"Yeah, funny." John glowered. Then smiled. "We were busy. Very, very busy before she left to pay attention to the details."

It was Evan's turn to frown. "I'm not giving it to you. If Moira had wanted you to have it she would have given it to you."

"Oh, believe me, she wanted me to have it. Repeatedly," John gloated, but became serious. "This is police business, Lorne. I need her input on an on-going investigation."

"What kind of investigation would need the input of a biologist? Oh, let me guess… an alien one?" Evan scoffed, moving to stand behind the counter. He closed a receipt book, mourning yet another lost sale. "I'm sure any biologist would do."

"No. I need her." He waited, but Evan was ignoring him. "I could get a subpoena. I could have you arrested for obstruction, not to mention assault and battery of a police officer."

"And I'd like to see you try. I could get a lawyer and sue you for assault and harassment. I've got witnesses."

"So do I."

They stared at each other. "Stalemate, then," Evan noted.

"Look, Lorne, I need her input on this. Before someone else dies. That's all. Just her scientific expertise. I wouldn't be contacting her otherwise."

Evan debated. He pulled out a paper from a drawer. "Fine. This is her email address. These are her coordinates if you've got a sat-link. I'm sure your secret government agency friends can hook that up for you, right? I haven't been able to contact her lately because of the sandstorms, so good luck. I had a few Air Force buddies try and even they could only get a sporadic signal."

"Crap," John sighed, taking the piece of paper. He stuffed it into his pocket.

"So…is this some space alien case or just a random animal attack or serial killer?" Evan asked. About to continue when John's phone buzzed.

John held up a hand, halting the conversation. He pulled out his phone. Saw the caller ID and took a step away from the counter. "Yeah?" he asked quietly, having no idea what to expect.

"We found the ship," came the voice of Rodney. A hint of excitement in his otherwise calm, unemotional voice. "Texting you the coordinates now. It's quite a wreck and we'll be clearing it away before the authorities get wind of it. There's something you need to see."

"Okay, got 'em." John eyed the phone. The location was out in the middle of nowhere. Once again he would have to traverse the desert and the blazing sun. He inwardly sighed. Why could he rarely catch a crime in some nice, air-conditioned hotel for a change? He eyed Evan. "It's your lucky day, Lorne. Wanna see a genuine alien spaceship?"


	4. Chapter 4

Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone4

The debris field wasn't big. A team was swarming over it, all clad in red hazmat suits as John and Evan approached. A natural gully spread out, dropping dramatically into a narrow canyon. A hot wind was blowing, churning up dust and dirt and tumbleweeds. It sighed through the canyon, sounding like a mourning woman. An alien spaceship was smashed into the side of the canyon wall, buried in the rocks and debris.

"That's why we couldn't locate it," Rodney said as he joined the two men. He was clad in his suit still, and John dismissed any concerns he may have held over residual radiation. "It's called a Dart. You can see why. It blends right into the canyon wall and the emergency transmissions bounced off the rocks, unheard. It's a wonder the pilot survived much less got out of there in one piece. Who's this?"

"Lorne. A consultant," John said briefly. "This is McKay. In charge of this stuff." John moved past the two men to stand at the very rim of the canyon. He peered down into it. Gaze scanning the odd-looking vehicle, the pointed end and the smashed cockpit.

Evan and Rodney briefly shook hands, completing their introduction. "Actually Dick Woolsey's in charge of this stuff," Rodney corrected. "I'm a scientist, a physicist."

"A Dick is in charge? Just peachy," Evan noted. The two men smiled.

"Afraid so. You're on Sheppard's team?"

"No."

"Background?"

"Artist. Formerly Air Force. Pilot."

"Interesting. You serve with Sheppard?"

"No. You're a physicist. That must come in handy with this stuff."

"More than you can imagine, actually. In ways that are making theories reality."

"Lorne! Come take a look!" John barked.

Evan sighed, moved to stand next to John. "What? I am not…huh."

"Huh? You don't sound impressed," John remarked.

"I thought it would be shinier," Evan jested, staring.

"It's an alien spaceship. Happy now?" John snapped. irritated by the man's sarcasm. The two men stared down at the battered vehicle. Wires and crystals were strewn about the rocks. Also more natural-looking material, like vines or nerves that were leaking a sticky fluid. The console was bashed, weakly emitting a quiet sound. Lines danced along a cracked screen. A strange language that neither man could identify or read. Words that meant nothing to them.

"I don't believe it," Evan muttered.

"Believe it." Rodney had joined them at the canyon's rim.

"It's leaking," Evan noted.

"No. It's bleeding. Their ships are mostly organic. They can heal themselves except in extreme cases, like this. It's a strange interface of natural and mechanical materials that we don't quite understand yet. This Dart is their version of a one-man fighter plane."

"The pilot must have been injured, or not in his right mind," Evan stated.

"The Wraith pilot is our killer," John informed.

"It appears so, John," Rodney agreed. "But it still doesn't make sense. They don't kill or feed like that."

"This one does. It cut off its own finger. No, it chewed it off. Explain that one to me."

"I can't."

"Can a human fly one of these things?" John asked.

"Yes, with the proper interface to translate Wraith into English and the codes and commands of the ship."

"You mean they have their own language?"

"Of course, John. They are highly intelligent beings."

"I thought you knew all about these space aliens," Evan accused.

John shrugged. "I skipped the Wraith 101 Class."

"What the heck is this?" Richard Woolsey was marching towards the three men. Annoyance on his face. "Another outsider?"

"He's on my team," John drawled.

"No, I'm not," Evan corrected.

"Is he or isn't he?" Richard demanded. "Wait, who authorized you to assemble a team in the first place?"

"I did," Rodney noted. "We discussed this, Dick, remember?"

"Is that Dick?" Evan asked quietly.

"Yeah, that's the Dick in charge," John agreed. The two men shared a smile.

Richard was not amused. "I didn't authorize this! We need a team to comb a wider area and remove any and all debris, plus the ship itself! You!" He pointed at John. "Get him out of here before I have to trump up some charge to have you both arrested for trespassing! You've got five minutes to vacate the area! Caldwell!" he shouted, heading for a large truck that was pulling up to the canyon's rim. "Let's get this ship out of here now!"

"Let me see a map," Evan said suddenly. An idea forming.

John and Rodney exchanged a glance. Rodney produced a tablet, brought up a map of the entire area. Evan took it.

"The crash is here." He highlighted the area. "The murder here, right?"

"The first murder. We just caught a second one," John informed, highlighting the location on the map.

"There's no pattern," Rodney said.

"A random pattern. A pilot, even an alien one will still follow basic survival instincts. Food. Water. Shelter. Try to contact the rest of the squad or command for extraction. Avoid enemy detection and await extraction or instruction."

"Try to find a way to communicate with its squad or command," John repeated.

"They can communicate telepathically so they don't necessarily need radio equipment or more sophisticated comm devices."

"And the only other Wraith on the planet is asleep. As far as we know," John added.

"Hibernating, yes. So he can't be communicating with this one. I think."

"You think? Great."

"Hibernating?" Evan asked, looking from one to the other.

"Long story. So…"

"Look. It's a zigzag pattern." Evan traced his finger from the downed ship to the first murder to the second. "Basic evasive maneuvering. Like an ant that has lost the scent trail of its colony then suddenly picks it up again. It weaves like that when it's trying to get a fix."

John and Rodney stared at the map. At the pattern on the screen now. "That actually makes sense," Rodney noted with a glance at Evan. Assessing. "They do have some insect DNA in them so that makes perfect sense, actually. I'm no entomologist but I do understand some of the basic behaviors. But where is it going?"

The three men eyed the map again. "Well…if it follows the same zigzag pattern, and assuming it follows the same distances…" He drew his finger across the screen. The map widened, extending to accommodate him. The three men stared as the grid enlarged to show a wider area of Nevada. Of settlements and suburbs, of civilian life that clustered and clustered around a city that was a neon glare even in the daylight.

"Crap," said John. "It's heading right for the heart of Vegas."


	5. Chapter 5

Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone5

The precinct was a maelstrom. Voices rising, falling, arguing. Men gesticulating, waving files and papers in the air. A board had been set up displaying the two crime scenes, the gruesome photos. Reports proliferated on desks. The room was full of policemen, animal control officers, detectives, nearly every kind of official. Suits and uniforms mingling.

"Sheppard!"

John winced, hearing the strident tone of Hendricks. Silence fell. The men parted, giving John a clear path to the head of the room, to the board with its horrible story. He swallowed, wishing he had stopped for that drink. Instead he had headed straight for the precinct. Straight into this. He walked to the board, to Hendricks who was staring at him. As if expecting him to produce the perp out of thin air. "Yes? Sir?" he added, seeing a mayoral representative lurking.

"Seems your instincts were correct, Sheppard. This one wasn't an animal attack at all."

"Actually, sir, it was." John braced himself. Again he found himself walking a fine line here between his two jobs, between the gritty everyday world of criminals and murder and the more exotic world of space aliens and unbelievable reality. "You all saw the crime scene. Only animals kill with that kind of strength. This guy, this guy was just there at the time. I think he took advantage of the situation. He was probably high on drugs and out of his mind."

"No man has the strength to do what was done to that vic," DeMouy agreed from the corner where she stood, nearly invisible among the taller forms of the men.

"Not even a guy hopped up on PCP?" one asked.

"It's possible, sure, but the guy was gutted. And there were no weapon marks on him." John viewed the men all watching him. "We've got an added variable now. Some loony tune who may be suffering from some pretty weird delusions."

"Like that mask he wore? God, that was creepy!"

"Yeah, like that mask," John agreed. Glancing at Hendricks who was watching, not saying a word. Letting him take point on this as he had on the last investigation. John felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. Felt the sweat trickling down his neck but he continued. "He may think he was responsible for all of this, in his own mind, which may trigger some kind of psychotic break which means he may target someone else."

"How on earth are we going to find him?"

"Don't know. Yet. We're working on it."

"Detective Sheppard, are you saying then that now there is a psycho killer loose on the outskirts of Vegas?"

The men turned as one. Faces drawn in annoyance, anger.

John sighed. Shook his head as Chuck Campbell had somehow snuck into the meeting, had somehow procured a pass and was now holding his digital recorder aloft like a sword. "This is not open to the press. Confiscate that."

"Hey!" Chuck objected as his recorder was snatched by a cop. "I have rights, you know! I have—"

"Get his ass outta here now! Until a press release is issued there's a gag order, and if you so much as hint at any of this I will throw you in jail! Go!"

"You can't do that, Sheppard! I have rights! Freedom of the press! The people have a right to know if a killer is loose on the streets!" Chuck shouted, even as he was being hauled out of the police building by two burly men. His hat fell but he snatched it off the floor, scrambled down the stairs before he was thrown down them.

John sighed. "Damn reporter always turns up at the worst times."

"Like a cockroach," agreed Hendricks. "Too bad we can't just stomp on him." Laughter went round the room. "All right! You heard Sheppard! Check all records of recently released drug addicts and mental health detainees. Check the psychiatric hospitals too. We've got an APB out and we'll increase patrols of outlying areas, plus issue an advisory to all the ranchers and farmers about a possible wild pack of dogs on the loose. Let's go, people! I don't want another dead body on my hands!"

Rodney waited, arms folded across his chest. Detached. Professional. Only a brief glance at the guard at the door betrayed that something wasn't quite right. That something irrevocably had changed. He looked back at the assorted lab equipment. At the woman standing over a microscope, peering into it. Her blond hair tied into a ponytail. Her white lab coat concealing whatever she had on underneath it.

A machine beeped and she moved to it. Removed the tray of vials and punched some buttons. Readings filled the screen. A genetic profile. Rodney recognized the letters A, G, C, T and others that only belonged to a very foreign species. An alien species.

"Well?" he snapped, impatient. Uncomfortable.

Jennifer Keller turned to him. Her pretty face drawn in strained lines. The blue eyeshadow bright against her pale skin. "My best guess is it's suffering from some kind of infection. Probably sustained during the severity of the crash. Not to mention any mental distress."

"Time-line?"

"The same wave as Todd. Why? Have there been more incursions?" she asked, turning to him in alarm.

"No. I just had to be sure. Prognosis?"

Jennifer frowned at his clinical tone. His steady, cold gaze. "Unless it is treated it will only get worse. If you could bring it in alive perhaps I could—"

"It's killing people. Viciously. It needs to be put down like a mad dog."

"Of course you'd say that, Rodney. These creatures are nothing more to you than specimens. They are intelligent beings with whom we can reason and—"

"They eat us! I hardly think we can reason with them, do you?" Rodney snapped. "Is there any way to track them? Some significant biological signature we haven't already implemented into our scanners?"

"No."

"I don't believe you."

"Fine. Don't." She stepped to him. Placed a gloved hand on his arm. "I don't want anyone else to die either, Rodney! But you have to start treating the Wraith like intelligent beings instead of dismissing them as mere animals. They are human, remember? Half of them is human and that half can be reasoned with, can be—"

"Just the sort of talk I would expect from a sympathizer," Rodney noted, stepping back from her. Back from her touch, her nearness. He found it hard to believe he had loved this woman once. Had even married her despite all the differences between them.

Jennifer pouted. Eyes filling with tears. Her voice becoming even more of a whine. "I made a mistake, I admit that. But you have to see that these creatures are intelligent beings from whom we could learn so much, Rodney! My God, they have spaceships! They can travel across the stars, across dimensions!"

"They eat us," he reiterated stubbornly.

"And how do you think a cow would view us? In exactly the same way!"

"Can we awaken Todd?"

"No! I told you, it would kill him to be awakened prematurely! His self-imposed hibernation is his way to survive. If you break that concentration he will go into shock and die."

"Will he? Or is this more sympathizer talk?"

"Rodney! I am a scientist! I—"

"Thank you, doctor. Get her out of here now."

"Rodney! You can't dismiss me! You can't deny that the Wraith are advanced beings! They are half human! Rodney! Rodney, please, talk to me! Come home to me! Please, Rodney, I still love you! I still love you!" she whined as she was pulled out of the room.

Rodney sighed, staring at the samples. Gut twisting this way and that. Not knowing whether to believe her or not. About the Wraith. About Todd. About himself. He clasped his hands behind his back. Shaking his head. He needed another expert, someone he could trust. Someone who would be impartial, scientific. Someone who was not a Wraith sympathizer, but didn't hate them either. Someone with whom he did not have a relationship.

He now knew why Sheppard often resorted to drink.


	6. Chapter 6

Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone6

The bar was noisy. Smoke-filled. The scents of alcohol and sweat prevalent in the poorly air-conditioned air. Tables were strewn along the floor, scattered around a long stage where spectators drank and gawked and issued rude comments. Seats were aligned along the stage, where the more daring patrons sat to get a better view of the show. Where they could fling dollar bills into the air, enticing the dancers closer to slide the money into the sparkling g-strings and, if really emboldened, try to cop of a feel of a bare, bouncing breast before security intervened.

John and Evan sat at one of the tables, doused in shadows as the spotlights were all trained on the stage, on various women dancing and writhing on the gold poles. All in various states of undressing, discarding their elaborate but tawdry costumes. Music pounded, pounded in the background.

John and Evan drank steadily, sharing a bottle of Scotch between them. It was the cheaper stuff but it would do until the bottle ran out and they would have to resort to beer. A bowl of pretzels sat in the middle of the small table, untouched. Their freshness dubious.

"Still don't believe it?" John asked, downing his drink in a long swallow. The liquid burned down his throat to his stomach. He poured himself another.

Evan was watching a woman shake and spin on a pole. Removing her sequined bra to reveal large but very fake breasts. "I still think it should have been shinier." John snorted. "But yeah, I guess I do believe it. Moira said it was all real."

"She was right. It all is. And now we've got an alien out there killing people."

"Just another Tuesday, right?" Evan downed his drink. Poured himself another. "You contact her yet?"

"Nope. Damn sandstorms," John grumbled. He ran a hand through his hair. Sighed. Eyes on the strippers now as they shimmied up the stage. Naked flesh on display except for the skimpy g-strings that would soon be removed as well.

"These aliens…they're human, sort of?"

"Yeah. Part human, part bug, alien bug. I don't know."

"And they speak English?"

"Yeah. Don't ask me about that one. Not that they want to talk to us much."

Evan snorted. "Guess not since we're…what, food?"

"We're cattle to them. That's what McKay said." John touched his chest, feeling the scabs. The scars. Having felt the feeding process firsthand he could certainly attest to that fact. He downed his drink. The memory of Moira's tender caress on his old injuries intruding. He brushed the memory aside, eyed the women who were ogling him now, giving him plenty of opportunities to give them cash or a card or his number. Painted smiles on painted faces.

"Charming," Evan remarked. "That ship…there's more? I mean, a fighter like that couldn't get far on its own, not without a support vessel."

"Yes." John shifted on the chair, flashed his badge. The strippers scurried away from him. He smiled, drank. "They call it a Hive ship. They destroyed it but a few of those Darts got through the rift and into our atmosphere, crashing."

"The what?"

"The rift. It's complicated. McKay can explain it better than I can. You're onboard?"

Evan debated. Watching the display of female flesh. The music was drumming in his head. The alcohol creating a buzz. Creating a haze of unreality around him. Shining with sequins and glitter and naked breasts. "Yeah…I guess."

"Tell Carson about it. We need him too."

"He'll want to see the alien for himself. So do I, if you catch this one. Or that other one. How many of them are they, actually?"

John shrugged. "I have no fucking idea."

"We're closed!" Carson glanced up from the bar as he wiped down the counter. Glanced again as a man approached. A man in a dark suit and dark tie. The dim lights played along his bald head, along the lenses of his glasses as he neared. "I said we're closed!"

"Excellent. I need a private consultation, Doctor Beckett. I don't believe you remember me. I'm Mr. Woolsey."

"I remember you well enough, laddie. You tried to have my establishment closed and your goons nearly did me in, oh I remember you and your cronies. And it's Mr. Beckett. I am not a doctor anymore."

Richard smiled. "Once a doctor always a doctor, Carson. May I call you Carson?"

"No."

"As I was a lawyer I will always be a lawyer despite my new, er, job." He set his briefcase on the counter. "The truth is, Beckett, I need your help. I'm sure you know what this is about. I need an analysis of this. A second opinion, as it were." He opened the case, produced a vial of tissue.

Carson ignored it. Resumed wiping down the bar, although he was intrigued. "I'm tired of giving out advice and opinions for free, Woolsey. Don't you have your own experts?"

"Sheppard," Richard realized. Frowned. "Yes, we do, but one of those experts is, shall we say, compromised and cannot be fully trusted yet. All I need is scientific analysis. You've seen this before, I know. And I will pay you."

"Upfront."

"Upfront," Richard agreed with a sigh. Produced a checkbook and began to write into it. "Will two hundred be sufficient."

Carson smiled. "For now. You better come down, then." Once Carson examined the check he took the sample, led the other man into the basement. He turned on machines, pulled on gloves and began to extract the tissue into a vial for analysis. "What am I looking for?"

"Any anomalies in the existing tissue. Our expert said it was diseased and I want a second opinion just to be sure."

"Is this one of your aliens then?"

Richard scowled, but nodded. "Yes. You know all about them, do you?"

"Some. Not that I believe a word of it, mind you. Sounds like science fiction to me. Until I see one for myself I am not convinced."

"That's a rational expectation. So you're not on Sheppard's team?"

"Not yet. Here we go. Ah…it is. The same DNA combination of human and unknown insect, which is impossible, of course."

Richard smiled. "Not in their galaxy, apparently."

Carson shook his head. Moving from the machine to the microscope and back again. "Just a tic. I can't do a full work-up but I can give you a quick comparison to…oh."

"Oh? There is disease in the tissues?"

"Oh, aye. And one we've seen before."

"Come again?"

Carson frowned. Turned to the other man who was watching, puzzled. "That alien pathogen. The one that was causing all those deaths in various animals and then in a human victim? It's in the cells here too, but mutated. Isolated, so I don't think we can expect another outbreak but still…it's a viral infection and it will only get worse."

"She didn't mention it was the same strain," Richard said quietly.

"Maybe she didn't see it. It's encoded in the proteins, in the combined proteins of the, the species. Selective to this particular species, this particular subject."

"Wait? Like it was specifically made for this Wraith?"

Carson shrugged. "You tell me. It's not infectious, or we would have cases by now from all of the investigating officers at the crime scenes. I presume this sample is from your suspect, correct? Why else bring it to me? John did the same to confirm the species. This particular pathogen was triggered to limit the lifespan of this creature. It's only a matter of time."

Richard stared. "Before it dies…once it completes its mission."

"What is its mission?"

Richard sighed. Shook his head. "Hell if I know, doc."


	7. Chapter 7

Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone7

John couldn't think. He was in his apartment, poring over the case files, the evidence but the people next door and below him were noisy. Having a party with blaring, awful music and raucous laughter. He considered using the badge to shut them up, shut them down, but knew it wouldn't endear him to his neighbors. Not that he cared. He gathered the files, the photos, and dumped them into a box. Carried it out into the night, needing a quieter place.

He drove through the city. Neon lights blinked, turning night into day. Offering distraction, entertainment. The streets thronged with tourists as they always did and John was forced to slow down, stuck behind tour buses and casino shuttles and countless pedestrians. The clatter of slot machines could be heard even out here. Tempting him along with the imagined card games and alcohol and other diversions.

He considered pulling alongside a casino. Indulging in a game or two. A card game to wile away the time, to wile away his thoughts. He knew that Mikey Sheridan would front him a stake or two, be so glad to have him back in his clutches, owing money plus interest. He considered catching a show, or just drinking the night away. Until some woman caught his eye and he would engage in more physical distraction. It had been awhile, and John let his gaze roam along the street, seeking some female entertainment to take off the edge.

It would be easy enough to hit some sleazy motel and get some action. Or even a high-end casino and get some more expensive company. At least the beds would be cleaner. He snorted at the thought. He could even be all respectable and pick up a woman at a bar who wouldn't charge him for any rendered services. It all boiled down to the same thing anyway.

He wondered if any of them would dress up like a scientist.

Frustrated he hit the lights, flashing the red and blue on the dashboard and swerved round the traffic, causing honking and yelling and people jumping onto the sidewalks. Once clear of the city he switched off the lights and made his way through the residential areas. To Wind Chime Lane. To Moira's house.

He parked the car. Sat, staring at the vacant house. Feeling stupid for coming here. Feeling foolish. But he needed the quiet to think. He needed the ghost of her presence to sharpen his thoughts, his focus. He was getting mired in the details and needed a different outlook. He needed to get away from temptation.

He got out of the car. Carried the box to the front door. He looked round, scoping out the street. All was quiet. Dark. Streetlights were amber circles in the stillness of the night. A lone dog barked. A warm wind blew, ruffling his hair, his jacket. Satisfied he pulled out a lock pick, set to work and quickly broke into the house. Smiled, amused at his sneakiness. He could imagine her anger and it amused him to no end. He stepped inside, shut and locked the door. Made sure the lock wasn't broken. No harm, no foul. He could picture himself explaining it to her, could picture her frown, her annoyance. Smiled at the image.

The house was quiet. Empty. Silent. He set the box onto the table, sat on the couch, in the dark. Frowned. Flicked on a lamp and began to sort through the files, emptying the box. It was easy to get into the mind of a killer, the mind of a human but to get into the mind of an alien being was next to impossible. Except half of it was human. He sighed. Grabbing the bottle of beer he had put into the box as well. He sipped, sorted through the notes, the photos, the evidence yet again. Mind turning over every angle in a vain attempt to solve the case.

He was supposed to follow the human side . She was supposed to follow the insect side. But now Moira had mucked it all up by leaving in the middle of a case. Leaving him adrift, at a disadvantage while this thing went on a killing spree. Leaving for some fucking expedition in Mongolia, of all places. To dig up fossils of extinct beasts while a very real alien was killing very real people in her own backyard.

He felt angry at that. At her refusal to help him. At her rejection. He recalled Carson's words, refuted them. He couldn't have stopped her. He didn't feel that way for her, and she didn't feel that way for him, obviously. He knew he wouldn't allow himself to feel anything again, not after what had happened. And realized she felt the same. After that last disastrous expedition where her fiancé had been killed. Realized they were alike in that respect, at least.

Realized he wasn't fooling Carson even if he was fooling himself.

"Fuck." He shoved it all aside, the tangled emotion over Moira, the files in front of him. He checked his watch. Hours had passed. The beer bottle was empty. He rose, stretching muscles that ached from being in the same hunched position for hours. He moved to the bedroom. Stood looking round. Eyed the lilac curtains, the lilac bedspread. The lilac walls. Everything was too lilac for his tastes. He sat on the bed. Laid back upon it, covering his face with his hands.

He scooted up to the headboard, kicking off his shoes. Burrowed his face into the pillows as he turned onto side, as if searching for a trace of her scent, a whiff of her hair or skin. He deplored his need, this weakness. Had not felt such attachment to a woman since…he couldn't even think her name. Not without the vivid memory of her death intruding, the helicopter crash, the near decapitation of her in those last moments.

Maybe it was better that Moira was gone. At least she was safer in Mongolia. At least she was safer out of his orbit where he couldn't get her harmed, or worse. Where his stupidity and negligence couldn't get her killed.

John rolled onto his back again. Stared up at the ceiling, letting more pleasant thoughts play in his mind. More sexual memories. His hand slid down to his crotch as he filled his mind with Moira. Their passionate encounters. The sexual pleasure. Their teasing sparring and flirtation. Found himself unzipping his pants as the images became more erotic, more intense. Their naked bodies entwined, straining. Exulting. Flesh on flesh colliding, joining. Exploring.

The sounds she would make as she came. As he came within her, upon her.

He paused, smirking. Sat up to view the dresser. Knew what he needed to get off, to really get off. Moved to accomplish his goal.

Its breathing slowed, slowed. Heart rate slowing, calming. Panic assuaged. Pain soothed. Hunger abated for now, a crude feeding but a feeding nonetheless. It sucked and sucked at its arm, freed itself before the enzyme sac was depleted. It was having to eat itself to stay alive, but it would survive. It would manage until it reached the one who called him, who directed him.

The sustenance he was getting from the humans was too fleeting. Too impossible to gather with its extensive injuries. It was being forced to resort to more primitive methods of feeding and its body couldn't quite cope with the intake of raw flesh and blood. That wasn't what it needed. That wasn't what it craved.

The craving was insatiable. Driving it to a mad fury when it couldn't be assuaged.

It burrowed down into the trash, into the depression of the dumping ground. Closer now. It could smell the humans on the wind. Could smell their habitations, their numbers. Could see the bright lights of their communities in the distance. So many humans! All crammed together and oblivious to the predator in their midst. It was astounding! So unlike home he had to marvel, to wonder at it all. To wonder what planet this was, this rich new feeding ground that so far was undiscovered by many of his kind.

He wondered if a powerful queen ruled here, but he would have felt her. He would have felt her call. Instead he felt the call of the other one. The intermittent call directing, guiding. Giving him a mission, a purpose. Taking him out of the madness, the despair, the regret. Promising him salvation, food, safety.

He hated this place. The noises all around him. Technology he had never seen. More advanced than the humans in his world but still primitive compared to what his own species had accomplished. These humans would be easy to conquer. Like all the rest. But first he had to rest. Recover.

Their weapons were primitive, but en masse they were quite effective. Hurtful. It took time to recover from the bullet wounds. To regenerate injured tissues and revive lost blood. He knew they were actively hunting him now. He needed a place to hide, to heal.

He settled into the dirt, the trash. Calming himself. Slowing his metabolism to the point of death. To give himself time to heal. To be hidden. To await the next summons. To fulfill his mission parameters and then, finally, go home.

All he wanted was to go home.


	8. Chapter 8

Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone8

The buzzing woke him. He snarled, rolled onto his back. Fought the sheets and slid to the table to grab his phone. His head ached. The night of drinking had taken their toll. His eyes were blurry and he grunted, a terrible taste in his mouth. There was a smear of lipstick on his cheek, then his hand as he rubbed his face. He stared at the red paint for a moment, puzzled. Then felt motion next to him. He looked over to see a naked, curvaceous woman stirring awake. Long blond hair a tangle across her tanned skin.

"Huh." He snatched the phone. "Hello?"

"About time!" came Carson's voice, sounding irate. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Huh?" He glanced at the clock. "Oh shit. I should have opened an hour ago! Shit. What the hell do you want anyway?"

"What do you think? I'm waiting at your gallery if you care to show up this morning!"

"I'm on my…" Evan sighed as the call was ending. Wondered what Carson wanted. He sat. Recognized the confines of his bedroom, his apartment. He scowled. Last night was a blur but at least he has enjoyed himself. He smacked the woman's rear. "Get up, doll. Time to go!"

The alarm on his watch woke him. It buzzed insistently until he groaned, fingered it and shut it off with a push. He opened his eyes to a bleary world of lilac and realized where he was. John sat, sprawled on Moira's bed. He had fallen asleep. He smirked, finding his pants open, his shorts open. Finding a pair of her silky, skimpy panties still clutched in his hand. He shoved him into his pocket, scooted off the messy bed. He didn't bother to straighten the bedspread. Or to clean the telltale signs upon it.

He made his way to the bathroom to clean up, to urinate, to make himself almost presentable before he headed for his own place to shower, to change into clean clothes. To start the day. He looked at himself in the mirror. Saw the weariness, the excess of last night.

The loneliness.

He scowled, berating himself. Quickly left, grabbing the box full of files and photos and evidence on his way out. He made sure the door was locked before he headed for his car. Dumped the box onto the back seat and drove to his apartment, ignoring the puzzled stare of a puzzled neighbor. He slowed, smiled. Gave a wave.

The alarm buzzed, buzzed loudly, jolting him out of bed . He cursed, rolled and slammed his palm onto the clock, silencing it. He sat, staring round the motel room. Scowling at the flea-bag décor, the lumpy bed under him. Rodney sighed, got out of bed. He hated bunking down in such a sleazy place but couldn't face going home. Not yet.

And he had nowhere else to go. Yet.

He showered, shaved, dressed. All motions mechanical, efficient. Checked his messages as he sat at a table, eating a quick breakfast in a joint that was open all hours. He sipped his coffee, made a face at the taste of it. He much preferred Katie's coffee but he didn't have time to drive all the way out there to her diner to get some. He perused the headlines of the paper. Scowled. Saw that the cover story of an animal attack was impaired, had nearly been blown wide open with the addition of a maniac on the loose now.

Rodney sighed. Set down the cup. He wondered how things had gotten so very badly out of control in such a short amount of time. As if something or someone was manipulating events behind the scenes. He shrugged off the paranoia but it lingered in the back of his mind.

A nagging suspicion he couldn't quite ignore.

John set down the paper, fingers curling into a fist before he forced himself to relax. He licked his lips, stood in his office a moment. Letting the solitude wash over him. The relative quiet. He smoothed down the wrinkles in his dark brown jacket and left his office. He walked into the captain's and stood as the other man finished a phone call. His gaze darting round the neat and tidy space. The computer. The files organized. The photos of the man's family, a wife and daughter who were smiling, on some picnic in the mountains.

"Yes?"

John blinked. His thoughts had been wandering all over the place. He cleared his throat. "Nothing yet, sir. There's not a sign of the guy, and so far animal control haven't found any trace of any wild packs of dogs in the vicinity."

"Great. So we have no leads whatsoever. Where could this guy be hiding?"

"Anywhere in that desert. Or in a depopulated area. But he'll surface soon enough."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Sheppard. We can't afford to have another mutilated body on our hands. Already the mayor is breathing down my neck to arrest a suspect, any suspect and ease people's fears. To have animal control catch a pack of coyotes and put them down to assure the public that it's safe to venture into the desert again."

"We'll catch him, sir."

"Really? And do you propose to do just that? You have no leads, no forensic evidence to even give you a clue as to who this guy is or where he's hiding!" The flare of anger was rare to see in Hendricks. It came more from frustration than any personal ire.

John shrugged. "He'll make his next move and we'll catch him before he kills again. I 've got a few ideas about that, but I need more time to, um, research them."

"I see. Don't take too much time, Sheppard. I have a feeling all of our badges are riding on this. If I go down, we all go down."

"Sorry, sorry!" Evan unlocked the door, entered the art gallery, Carson on his heels. "I had a late night of it and lost track of the time. Were you going to meet me here this morning?"

"Yes. You left me a message saying you had to talk to me this morning, that is was urgent. It can't have been too urgent as you are hung over and barely remember leaving the message." Carson was more amused than angry as he followed the younger man into the building. The cool air hit him and was a welcome relief from the oppressive heat of the morning.

"Yes, well…sorry. I don't remember that. I don't remember a lot after John and I went drinking at the strip joint."

"You went drinking with John at a strip joint? I see."

"It's not what you think."

"What do I think?"

Evan frowned, gesturing Carson to follow him into the back room. "We were discussing the case. He showed me."

"Showed you what? Apart from the naked ladies, I mean."

Evan sighed, seeing the humor in the doctor's eyes. "Funny. He showed me a downed spaceship. An actual alien vessel. It's all true, like Moira said. I still don't quite believe it but I can't deny the evidence. Wanna cup?" He was brewing some coffee.

Carson took a seat at the table, shook his head. "No thanks. You saw a spaceship?"

"Yes. And the pilot is one of those, um, Wraith creatures and it's been killing those people. I sort of figured out a trajectory for it, based on its movements and other stuff. I'm not sure I'm right but if I am we need to find this thing fast before it hits the heart of Vegas."

"We?"

Evan sipped some coffee. Grimaced at the taste but downed it anyway. He turned, sat across from the doctor. "Yes. Like it or not I can't deny what I saw. It was no hoax either. And those government guys, they're real enough too."

"I know that. I got a visit from one last night."

"You did? What did he want?"

"A second opinion. On some DNA sample which tested the same as the one John gave me. As the one Moira gave me. Half human, half insect. Which is impossible since such things don't exist."

"They do now, doc. It only follows that if the ship is real…"

"The space aliens are too, I know, but I still can't believe it and I need more concrete proof before I even begin to decide to join this team of his or not. The alien pathogen was present too, which their expert didn't detect. Makes me wonder."

"If their experts are really experts?"

"Yes, but also if they know more than they are telling us and this is some elaborate test."

"Oh come on! You really think they would endanger people's lives like that?"

Carson shrugged. "Who knows. All I know is that someone is holding all the cards, and that someone isn't me. Or you. Or Sheppard. So that leaves one of them."

Evan shrugged. "Or someone unknown to us all."


	9. Chapter 9

Vegas in Red: I Still Miss Someone9

A squall was hitting. A quick break in the heat, drowning the afternoon in rapid rainfall and an overcast sky. Shielding the sun in clouds of gray and black as distant thunder rumbled. A brief respite from the scorching sun but John knew it would be quick, knew it would be over as soon as it had begun. The rain sent tourists scurrying into the nearest casinos, the nearest shops. Momentarily emptying the busy streets. The neon bulbs flashed in the water as it doused the asphalt, creating pools of blue, of green, of red, of violet to dance and shimmer.

John darted out of his car, darted across the street. Puddles splashing over his shoes as he hurried out of the rain into the restaurant. The damp air was refreshingly cool, sharp. Made his senses sharpen, his appetites return as he shook off his brown jacket. Saw the admiring glances of several women raking over him. He smiled, but moved past them all to a table where a group of men sat, waiting for him. He paused, eying them. Feeling a sudden flush of pride. His team, mostly. If they would agree.

Except one member was missing.

He shoved the thought aside, joined them, plopping down in a chair. "Sorry I'm late."

"We already ordered," informed Rodney. Eyed the men at the table. "I'm sorry, John. I tried the sat-link myself and there is just too much interference from the sandstorms. The satellite won't be in range for another seventy-two hours now."

"Great," John muttered. Perusing a menu. Pretending that it didn't really matter. That is was purely to do with the case, nothing more. That he could bring in another biologist with the snap of his fingers and get what he needed with no trouble. That it had everything to do with the case and nothing to do with Moira herself.

"That just leaves the trajectory, then, to try to track this thing. Unless your experts can help," Evan noted.

"Which they can't, according to Woolsey," Carson stated. "You must have some idea of how these things operate, right? You're the alien guy."

"Yeah, he is Canadian, but not a biologist," John stated with a smirk. "I'll have the BLT and a slice of lemon meringue—"

"Must you?" Rodney asked with a sigh.

"Must I what? Don't tell me you have something against BLTs now?" John asked, raising a brow.

"Against BLTs, no. Against lemons, yes. I have a serious citrus allergy which can lead to hives and inflammation and serious side effect so please I would prefer it if you didn't order anything with lemons or anything with citrus generally."

John blinked. Looked at Carson. "Okay. Make it key lime…" Rodney made a sound in his throat. "Okay…make it…cream pie, then. Doc, is that for real?"

"The allergy? Yes, it can be a form of OAS, or oral allergy syndrome, but the symptoms are mild and not at all life-threatening."

"So say you. Have you ever eaten a piece of fruit and ballooned up to twice your size and had your throat close up on you?"

"Point taken. But I think I'll keep a lemon in my car from now on, just in case." Smiles all round, except for Rodney who scowled. "Anyway, what was I saying?"

"You weren't saying anything," Evan stated with a smirk.

"Funny. Okay, well now I am saying something. We'll use your trajectory. But this thing might be crazy, so how do we predict crazy? Carson?"

"I was a medical doctor, not a bloody psychiatrist," he refuted. Considered, brow furrowing. "We need an entomologist."

"No, we need Moira," Evan said with a sigh. "Except you drove her away."

"I did not drive her anywhere," John refuted. "We need an alien expert. We need to wake up Todd, damn it!"

"We can't. We've been over this, all right? It's too dangerous!"

"Todd?"

"The alien prisoner they have," John explained. Glared at Rodney. "Are you one hundred percent sure about that? I mean so far you've been batting for zero here."

"We've had more than one scientist to confirm it."

"I want Carson to take a look at Todd."

"Finally I get to see the alien. About time."

"No. Not yet, anyway. Do you have any idea how much trouble you've already caused me? First by bringing Lorne to a downed ship and now trying to get your other team member to see the prisoner, all without any prior notice or having any legal documents signed?"

"I'm not his team member, and I won't be signing any documents," Carson said. Glanced at Evan who shrugged. The signing of documents was news to him as well.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused me?" John refuted. "I've had to cover my own ass plus yours and try to maintain this cover story plus think of a plausible one to explain the Wraith as some ordinary psychotic killer on the loose! Plus I can't work with only half-baked theories and suppositions when I need real, hard facts! I need to know how to catch this thing before it kills again ! I don't care how, I don't care what it takes, all right? I can't do a profile of the thing because it's a fucking alien!"

John saw all the men staring at him. Saw the other patrons of the bar staring at him. Hadn't realized he had raised his voice, his ire coming through loud and clear. He cleared his throat. Sipped his Coke and said quietly, "So?"

The men exchanged glances. Various expressions of amusement, of annoyance on their faces. The hum of normal conversations around them resumed.

"Well…" Rodney paused, swallowed. "I guess we need to get in gear and solve this thing, then."

"And it sounds like we're running out of time," Evan noted. Checked his watch. "I've gotta go. Look, I'll work on that trajectory. See if I can discover anything that might help us."

"I've got to go as well. I've got a business to run. I'll try to access information on insect behavior but it's not my field so I can't promise a thing."

John nodded. Watched the two men leave. Noted that neither had offered to pay for their lunch. He smirked, amused. He looked at Rodney who was tidily wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Where does that leave us, then?"

Rodney shrugged. "Hell if I know. We're at a dead end as well, John. We're having trouble tracking the damn thing. If you can guess where it's headed it's still only a guess. More importantly we need to figure out what it wants, what it needs."

John sighed. "Wonderful. How the hell are we supposed to do that. Shit. We need another biologist, maybe an entomologist. No. We need Moira."

Rodney heard the reluctance. Smiled. "We need? Or you need, John?"

"We need. The team. This case. That's all."

"I see." Rodney stood . "You've got this, right? I need to get back to work. We'll do everything we can, but I can't promise any quick results. Plus I've got those fluctuations to monitor. Call me if you discover anything, and I'll do the same."

John nodded. Watching him leave, miffed he was stuck with the check. Especially as he had yet to be paid for any services rendered to this secret government agency. He moved to his feet, a sudden decision formed. "Hey, Rodney!"

Rodney turned back to him. "Yes?"

"Um…you wouldn't happen to have any flights going out to Mongolia, would ya?"


End file.
